Untitled Document
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Turning Nothing Into A Dream
My mind always talks in a grandiose,
pompous flowery kind of way.
Flirtatious with winds and
scared to hope because the
vulnerability stretches and aches the
muscles. Never
seeing hope manifest into
reality is to much for me to bear.
The thought of being so close to
something with never actually feeling it
weakens
and drains
every morsel
of spit and grit that I have.
So I decorate it all in my mind
with beautiful words.
Hard knocks kept trying
but they can't break in.
How to love without the clichés;
wind breaking
and shattering every morsel
of my blood. I cry or
weep not sure which is deeper
or real. You sit where I
can no longer reach you.
My strength is spent. The gig is up!
Yearning—for you.
For what would have been called Everything.
But not tonight. Tonight I don't
have the strength
to turn nothing into a dream.
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